Thetime toworry about flying iswhen you’re ontheground. When you’re upintheair,it’s toolate.
No point in worrying about it then.
—DENZELWASHINGTON
Inever thought my first date after Joey would be set up by a woman I’m falling for. But since she’s off-limits, I have yet to move on. Might as well start now.
As with my house restoration, I’ve decided to focus on what I want to create rather than what I want to escape. And the truth is that I want a family more than I want a home.
With that in mind, I hold the phone closer to my ear and ask Claire one of the most important questions when dating flight attendants. “Is she open to moving to Seattle for good?”
Angel lives in the crash pad with Claire and speaks with a Southern twang, so as far as I know, she’s planning to transfer to Atlanta.
“She loves Seattle,” Claire gushes, without really answering my question. “It’s just more expensive than the South, you know. And she can’t afford a place of her own at the moment.”
Valid. I’ve always lived in Washington—except during my short pilot training in Paris, when I was too stressed to even explore the city—so I’ve always figured I’d marry a Washingtonian. Actually, I always figured I’dmarry Joey. It’s weird and a little overwhelming to consider all the other types of women out there.
I don’t know much about the South other than what I’ve experienced on work trips. Oh, and my roommate in Paris, who came from Shreveport, Louisiana, said that during his time at flight school there, two planes returned to the hangar with bullet holes. I know Shreveport has a high crime rate, but are there really that many stray bullets flying around that they’d hit planes, or were the planes being used as target practice? I never want to find out.
“Okay,” I allow.
“Are you free tonight?”
I blink at the suddenness. If I say yes, I’m going on a date with Claire’s roommate. And the woman probably doesn’t want to help paint my walls, which is what I’d been planning to do.
I fly out tomorrow to work a trip, so if I’m going to take Angel out, it’s either now or next week. “Sure. Why not? What does she want to do? I’m kind of rusty at this.”
The Museum of Flight is close by. There’s indoor mini-golf. We could drive downtown to the aquarium and ride the giant Ferris wheel. Though if it turns out we have nothing to talk about, that could get awkward.
“Do you enjoy Caribbean food?”
This is a trick question in our career. It could mean we’re taking a red-eye to Jamaica. “Sometimes?”
Claire apparently takes this as a yes. “A passenger was talking about a Caribbean restaurant on my flight in yesterday. I told Angel about it, and she looked it up online. I think she’d really like to go there.”
I smile and shake my head. Claire’s not only playing matchmaker but is planning our whole date, as if she wants this more than Angel does. Wait a minute—maybe she does.
“Is Angel interested in me?” I challenge.
“Oh, she thinks you’re very handsome. Very handsome.”
I arch an eyebrow that she cannot see. “The only person who’s ever called me handsome was my grandmother when I was five and wearing a bow tie. I think the exact phrase was ‘handsome devil,’ which my momclaimed was scandalous since we were heading to church for Easter. But then Grandma rebutted that we eat deviled eggs at Easter too, so it’s allowed.”
Claire laughs, then sobers. “To be honest, Angel just broke up with a cheater.”
Ahh ... that’s what this is. Claire thinks we’ll connect over being cheated on, even though it’s something I’d rather never talk about again. “She might need more time to heal,” I suggest.
“Then think of this as therapy.”
Great. Rather than Angel paying for a therapist, I’m paying for her dinner and listening to her sob story. However, Claire sounds so pleased with herself that I can’t say no. Plus, I’ll get to see her tonight when I go to their condo.
“All right. I’ll pick her up at six.” It’ll be interesting to hear how Claire talked Angel into a date with me.
I knock on the familiar red door. Claire opens it, wearing a pink sweat suit and a walking boot. She isn’t dressed for a date. She’s dressed for a workout or a night of binge-watching Netflix. Or painting a living room.
Even in stay-home mode, though, she looks as excited as if she were the one going on the date. With her boyfriend, of course, not me.
“How are you feeling?” I nod to her foot.
